


May Flowers

by Icarus (Slickarus)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Grief, I think this is a modern AU? But it doesn't really matter, May 5 is Wendla's Birthday, Post-mortem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slickarus/pseuds/Icarus
Summary: Hanschen didn’t have a cake this year.





	May Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I decided that Hanschen's birthday is May 4, but I did.

Hanschen didn’t have a cake this year.

Whenever he thinks about his birthday, he gets a lump in his throat that sucks out all the air. Even the sunshine can’t shake the clouds hovering over his shoulders and head; he only sees rain.

It’s the first year he’s had to celebrate alone.

They used to bake together - he knew the recipe by heart, and even though he pretended he was too much of a guy’s guy to bake, he loved every minute. She knew that. He shuddered when he thought about sugar and flour and icing and candles and  _ oh god, can’t breathe _ . He steadies himself on the counter in the kitchen as he walks through it on his way out the door. Maybe he’ll never eat cake again.

The walk on the way to school is slow and heavy, with the birdsong piercing through his ears sharply. He lets his feet turn him away from school, away from the friends willing to wish him a happy birthday, to pretend everything is alright. How tomorrow wasn’t the single most important day in the world to him.

She always let them celebrate on his birthday - “It’s only twenty-four hours, Hansi. Plus, that means I get two birthdays!” He’d laughed and swatted at her with a spatula. They held joint parties where she picked out the balloons and he wrote the guest list, but she invited everyone anyway. And he never really minded.

He had to jump the fence behind the church - nobody needed to know he was here. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way across the rows of stones, letting his fingers brush across the rough granite. He stops and his heart nearly leaps out ahead of him. He kneels to trace the letters:  _ Here rests in God, Wendla Bergmann, born May 5 _ \- and he can’t finish because somehow tears have made their way into his eyes, blocking out his vision. He can’t help but think about how she should be turning fifteen tomorrow, how he should be seeing her laugh when he jokes that, for today, he’s a whole year older. He can’t help but imagine the way his friends would slur their names into one when they sang  _ Happy birthday, dear WendlaandHanschen. _

He should have brought flowers. They were always the best part of Spring. He stays there for a while, kneeling in their private corner of the world, wishing he could do something to change the twisted hand of fate.

_ Happy birthday, dear Wendla _ , he heard himself sing under his breath.

_ Happy birthday to you. _


End file.
